


Whiskey Rest

by Seagoatink



Series: Navigator of Dangers [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seagoatink/pseuds/Seagoatink
Summary: Instead of facing her predicament head on, Kaaras stood to fill her mug with more whiskey. Then, instead of returning to her seat at the table, she walked straight out of the tavern and back to her cabin, like a sensible person. Because she was sensible, dammit.





	

Haven was too open for her liking and so was the tavern. But Kaaras’ face pressed into the wooden table. Her arms hung limp by her sides. A scratching in her throat told her she would soon be bedridden and sickly. The whiskey wasn’t helping any unfortunately.

There was a bump to the back of her seat, so she sat up and pulled the chair in close only to realize the place was filled to the brim with Bull’s Chargers. The big man himself was checking in with Flissa, but Krem sat beside her, unafraid of the Tal-Vashoth.

His foreign lack of distance was welcomed with a wimpy smile.

Krem returned the her smile with his own flashy and toothy grin. “Too much to drink, huh?”

Kaaras raised a brow. So that was it? He thought she was drunk. “I know my limits, I just wish they wouldn’t interfere with my oncoming cough,” the woman replied bluntly. “If I was religious, I suppose I’d waste the Maker’s time with some get well prayer.”

Her comment earned her a chuckle with the shake of the head from Bull’s second-in-command. “I’m sure Stitches or Apothecary Adan has something to remedy that,” the man stated, his words echoing his amusement. 

“You sure Bull doesn’t? Everyone else tends to see the ram horns and say exactly what you’d think they’d say.” She regretted the words before they finished forming, but there was no taking them back. There was no point in apologizing, she meant what she said. 

“Ram blood, right?” Bull said, plopping down on the stool to her left. 

Kaaras at the head of the table now sat between the two men where she sat alone only a few minutes ago. As much as she enjoyed the peace of being alone, it was nice to have another Qunari in the encampment. The fact that the rest of the people in The Singing Maiden were his people, lead by a Qunari, was relieving.

None of them were afraid of her. They did not mind the company of another Qunari. Hell not even half of them were human. They knew what it was like to some degree, granted not all of them stood several heads higher than others and had horns, but they knew what being an outcast meant.

The herald turned to face the only other person with horns and nodded. “Irritates my throat even more,” she said and swore under her breath. 

“You just need good company,” replied Bull in a tone that made Kaaras swear if he did not have that eye patch he would have winked.

The idea was nice, but Kaaras pushed it in her box of self-indulgence to delve into later -when she was alone. “Varric told me the same thing, though get the feeling you’re referring to something else,” she chuckled into her hands. Kaaras stifled a cough in her tunic before returning her eyes to his one eye. “How many times you get called _Oxman_ so far?”

“None,” The Iron Bull announced, puffing his chest in pride. “I’ve got to admit, I haven’t talked to anyone other than the Warden who’d use the word,” he was sure to add when the Lady raised a brow at him. “And you?”

She held up three fingers. “Blackwall slipped, realized it, and apologized all in one breath. That was a treat. Apothecary Adan, Cassandra had a _word_ with him, not gently I’d assume. Then there’s Threnn,” Kaaras grimaced, remembering how awful the woman was.

For her, there was no avoiding Threnn. It was her job to take requisitions. Kaaras’ job was to fill them. She would rather flirt with Scout Harding and be denied every damn time than so much as address Threnn as quartermaster of all things.

She had to admit, too much time had passed since the last time she actually came into contact with anyone. The hint of a one night stand in Bull’s voice was more than tempting. But something more solid and lasting was more her style.

“Not many people to socialize with?” Bull asked. 

The question earned a guffaw that filled the tavern. “No.” Her response was quick and curt, much like the realization that she had brought up something heavy to try and lighten the situation. Kaaras now sat beside him feeling awkward.

He indirectly pointed out her lack of recent socialization and she mentally kicked herself in the ass. All of the Charger’s heard her less than graceful response. Deciding which was worse was difficult to say the least.

Instead of facing her predicament head on, Kaaras stood to fill her mug with more whiskey. Then, instead of returning to her seat at the table, she walked straight out of the tavern and back to her cabin, like a sensible person. Because she was sensible, dammit.

Several hours later when she was deep into a book, Bull knocked and let himself into the warmth of her cabin. The elf girl, who he recognized as one of the chantry servants stared up at him, then to Kaaras who had not lifted her head or batted an eyelash. She cleared her throat. “K-K, erm Milady!” The girl called, setting aside a book of her own as she crossed the room. She must have been studying, because it took her a moment to recall his name. “The Iron Bull is here to see you.”

Kaaras raised a brow and turned her head to spot the Ben-Hassrath at the doorway. “Take some coin for morning’s meal,” she told the girl. “Keep warm,” the woman added, reminding the child that she couldn’t just dart out the door without her coat. 

The man took a step to the side, knowing the elf would have trouble getting past his hulking mass of muscle. Part of him wondered if she would be swept away by the wind, but he had seen her out on worse nights to enter the cabin. Bull assumed she slept here, the real question was where.

“Her name’s Halla,” Kaaras informed him nonchalantly as she sat up in her bed. Her legs fell over the edge and her toes reached the stone flooring.

On her nightstand rested the mug of whiskey from before, still mostly full. Given the conversation between her and Krem at the tavern, he confirmed Kaaras was saving it to kill her cold. Her air was warm and casual, so Bull knew he didn’t have to ask if he could stay in and chat for a while. He did not even have to ask to sit next to her, because she patted the bed. 

The book that kept Kaaras company up till now joined the mug on her nightstand, content with its newfound company. 

Bull sat down beside her on the bed. Beneath them, the thing creaked and squeaked, trying its damnedest to hold strong. Fortunately, the furniture had been reinforced during her travels and was sturdy enough for the both of them. “Can’t forget that now,” he said, tapping his head just in front of his horns.

She offered a weak smile, the look of the night, Bull supposed. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she muttered, “it’s been awhile since I’ve had a normal conversation.” Kaaras was about to correct herself. She would have told him that some time ago was her last casual conversation with someone who was _not_ human. 

“Loneliness is a hell of a thing to hide,” Bull pointed out.

Out of habit, the woman pulled her knees to her chest and rested her feet on the bed once more. “I’d say I’m more touch starved. Too sacred or too big. Either way, I’m intimidating, untouchable,” Kaaras sighed, leaning her head back against the wall behind them. She could feel the grin on his face, reading the implications of her words. “Oh please, didn’t you hear, I’ve been touched by _Andraste_ isn’t that enough,” she mocked with words stolen from one of the Chantry sisters.

Somehow he slipped his arm behind Kaaras’ back and pulled her to his side. “This is what you’re missing,” Bull said.

He was right. Closeness was something her life had lacked since the Valo-Kas sent her off on her mission at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to guard the Divine. Still, Kaaras held her neck firm. Every bit of her wanted to lean on him fully and just appreciate the comfort of intimacy, no matter how chaste it was. Even members of the Valo-Kas disliked being poked and prodded by her horns. She assumed The Iron Bull was no different.

“You’re holding out on me, Boss,” chuckled The Iron Bull softly. He had leaned down, somehow managing to avoid knocking horns with her.

In the candlelight, she realized her surprise also came from how naturally he moved around her. The thought was tossed aside quickly as Kaaras reminded herself he was from Par Vollen. He had the one up on her there. She grew up on an acreage with her parents and her siblings. Only one of all of them had survived, all the rest passed shortly after she reached her teen years.

Being close to another Qunari, one that was not family, was something she had not experienced not even with the Valo-Kas. They accepted her with open arms, but that was due largely to them being a mercenary group short on bodies. They were made up entirely of Tal-Vashoth from all over Ferelden, Orlais, and even Kirkwall. It was no surprise they took her in as well.

Kaaras glanced up at Bull and quickly realized he knew that she was not leaning into him for a reason. “I’d rather not gouge an artery,” she admitted flatly, her eyes drawn to the fireplace just past him. 

The man snorted at her deadpan remark. Apparently, new wounds were not at the forefront of his mind. He resituated on the bed, pulling one leg up to rest flat on the bed. Kaaras only realized it was her new nest when he hoisted her into his lap. His meaty arms encompassed her, one around her waist and the other trailing up her back. The latter hand cupped her neck and his beefy fingers pressed against her scalp.

It had been more than a decade, maybe even two, since someone held her as he did now. Her pride told her to argue that she was not a child and she did not need such treatment. Kaaras’ body failed to protest, however and instead fell limp in his hold. The side of her face pressed into his pectoral.

“My tama held me like this a time or two,” he told her.

“My father,” Kaaras replied. “Before the horns grew in. I’d rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart beat.” She sighed quietly against his skin and watched goosebumps form in response. “It was a little reminder he was real,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Her arms wrapped around his torso, almost able to circle him completely. Fingers from opposing hands barely brushed each other, and fell to Bull’s sides, giving up the endeavor entirely.

Bull tugged her closer by the waist as he slouched a little more on the bed. He had to admit it was nice when intimate did not cross the sexual boundary, even though he was more of a sex kind of man. The dead weight of her body pressed against him. Her steady breathing told him she was calm, perhaps about to doze off.  


His mind lingered on what Kaaras said. By her horns he knew she was at least in her mid-twenties but no more than mid-thirties. So much time had passed since her horns made their first circle, he knew from growing up in Par Vollen. Though, the ones whose horns grew like rams tended to lose them fast to battle or other children, or they were sent off to be bakers and live normal lives away from him.

His bosses had little interest in Kaaras in favor of information on the Breach, but he felt he needed to ask anyway. He could tuck the information away, save it for later, when they wanted to know about the Lady Herald. “I haven’t seen you write letters home. Your father didn’t take too kindly to you leaving for merc life, did he?”

Kaaras was careful to ease her horns away from Bull’s chest as she lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “My father died years before I left my brother on the farmstead,” she whispered. The saliva built up in her throat blocked most of the sound from coming out, telling Bull that Kaaras would have no voice by morning. “He was Arvaarad.”

“Age couldn’t have taken him,” Bull replied aloud, telling her he was listening.

She cleared her throat and shook her head. “He made me swear if anyone hurt my little brother, I had to kill them. But the boy was Saarebas. Father killed him when he tried to save our sister from a wound. Saarebas used blood magic, turned demon. As soon as he fell, I took Father’s life,” she retold the story with eyes glossed over. Bull could feel the slight tremors in her arms and back. But she spoke again, “I suppose that’s why we’re called savages by the Qun and by everyone else.”

The man was quiet as the woman returned her head to his chest and closed her eyes. “It’s not uncommon,” he said, looking down at her. “When it happens, everyone likes to pretend they would have acted differently.”

“I made a promise and I kept it,” Kaaras replied softly, sleep deep in her voice. 

“I’m not here to judge you for the past.” It was the truth. Words of morality and laws and the Qun hurled themselves about in his mind. The fact did not sting in his mind like an arrow, it just rung hollow and sat there.

At some point, she had fallen asleep. Kaaras assumed it was Bull who tucked her in when she woke in the morning and found her bedside candle put out. He had seemingly stolen a mouthful of whiskey as well, as the mug was noticeably more empty than the night before. 

Wind whipped around the building as Halla entered with their morning meal. For a moment, Kaaras found it odd that she did not quickly shove the door closed with her rump. Then Varric entered and tackled the door, fighting the wind as he closed it behind the two of them.

The Qunari sat up and pulled one of the furs around her shoulders. Then she stretched. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so early, Storyteller,” she greeted him. She let out a yawn and waved at Halla. “I’ll pull the table over so we can all sit,” Kaaras told the elf.

Halla stood and waited for the giant woman to rearrange the furniture to make enough seats for everyone. Then she set the food down on the table meant for one. She was finally able to fix her ash brown hair without the fear of dropping something.

“I saw Tiny hop on outta here an hour ago, figured I could see what that was all about by sharing a meal with you,” Varric teased as he and Halla sat down in the chairs and Kaaras took her bed.

“Turns out I didn’t need whiskey to thaw this old Qunari heart, just an eight hour hug. Strange, don’t you think?” Kaaras sassed with a smirk. Her head dipped as she coughed into the sleeve of her shirt. Then her long arms reached for the whiskey on the nightstand. “I might be wrong about that,” she mumbled, choking back the drink.

**Author's Note:**

> “I cant wait till I can just plop my head down on someone's chest just and feel that they're real. It'll be so nice.”  
> -My original prompt for this fic, words I said to a friend
> 
> It's a bit of a vent fic in all honesty. I got really hardcore triggered and needed some comforting, someone to talk to and someone to listen. I'll be honest, The Iron Bull is the only listener I thought of, so I shoved Kaaras with my emotions and pushed this out.


End file.
